Interpersonal Innovation || Imogen/Andee
Necessity is the father of invention - isn’t that what they always said? Only when man, hard-boiled and grim, had needed meat, did they make bows to hunt. Only when there was dirt on the floor did someone get fed up, probably a woman, and weld bristles to a stick and sweep it away. Only when Andreya was a lick away from losing her senses did the idea even come to her - not the invention itself, but the bigger picture. The device had been galloping around and around her head like a track horse, banging into the steel gates and kicking up its hind legs, Ride me! Ride her, indeed. Andreya sat at one of the long science lab tables with her hands dexterously working away at a vibrator.
It was a step beyond prototype. She’d finished that weeks ago. Her jaw hung slack in concentration, glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose and she gave him a hardy shove back between her eyes, not missing a beat between the twist of screwdriver and tap of button. There were settings to configure: vibrations in response to the user’s pulse, in iambic pentameter (ie, the speed of a heartbeat at rest), a button for self-regulation, temperature-sensative responses. Beside her was a flesh-soft cardboard box halfway full with completed toys. She cranked the final turn with a pinch of her fingers and tested it against her hand, and tossed the nth vibrator in with the rest.
Building a future for herself was her only option left. It had become increasingly clear that the colony wasn’t going to do it for her, their brows permanently narrowed and sand in their open wounds, and she was prepared to counterattack. This was still her life. Different, but still belonged to her. It wasn’t rocket science to build sex toys, and if she could hock something worth a profit, to secure her future, she had no reason not to. Aside from being able to pay for necessities without worry, her mind strayed to darker ambitions when it came to the comfortable wealth she anticipated she’d be wrangling: paying off Elites to do research on Danny’s whereabouts, bribing her way into the laboratories - paying for sex. The third smelled about as sweet as curing meat hanging from metal hooks, but she felt herself pushing the envelope with each sunset. Perhaps the nuclear smog was starting to get to her head.
Her focus waned and waxed something fierce and she pulled from her hunchback position over the desk, propping her glasses on top of her head and rubbing her eyes teary. She picked up one of the toys from the box, thumbing over the sleek design, no bigger than a tube of lipstick - for now. Solar charged, human operated. She would be doing just fine in a week or so.
imogenj-f
